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| LET us go then, you and I, |
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| When the evening is spread out against the sky |
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| Like a patient etherised upon a table; |
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| Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, |
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| The muttering retreats |
5 |
| Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels |
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| And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: |
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| Streets that follow like a tedious argument |
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| Of insidious intent |
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| To lead you to an overwhelming question … |
10 |
| Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” |
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| Let us go and make our visit. |
|
| |
| In the room the women come and go |
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| Talking of Michelangelo. |
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| The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, |
15 |
| The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes |
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| Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening, |
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| Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains, |
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| Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys, |
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| Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, |
20 |
| And seeing that it was a soft October night, |
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| Curled once about the house, and fell asleep. |
|
| |
| And indeed there will be time |
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| For the yellow smoke that slides along the street, |
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| Rubbing its back upon the window-panes; |
25 |
| There will be time, there will be time |
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| To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; |
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| There will be time to murder and create, |
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| And time for all the works and days of hands |
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| That lift and drop a question on your plate; |
30 |
| Time for you and time for me, |
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| And time yet for a hundred indecisions, |
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| And for a hundred visions and revisions, |
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| Before the taking of a toast and tea. |
|
| |
| In the room the women come and go |
35 |
| Talking of Michelangelo. |
|
| |
| And indeed there will be time |
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| To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?” |
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| Time to turn back and descend the stair, |
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| With a bald spot in the middle of my hair— |
40 |
| [They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”] |
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| My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin, |
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| My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin— |
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| [They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”] |
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| Do I dare |
45 |
| Disturb the universe? |
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| In a minute there is time |
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| For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. |
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| |
| For I have known them all already, known them all:— |
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| Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, |
50 |
| I have measured out my life with coffee spoons; |
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| I know the voices dying with a dying fall |
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| Beneath the music from a farther room. |
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| So how should I presume? |
|
| |
| And I have known the eyes already, known them all— |
55 |
| The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase, |
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| And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, |
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| When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, |
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| Then how should I begin |
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| To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? |
60 |
| And how should I presume? |
|
| |
| And I have known the arms already, known them all— |
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| Arms that are braceleted and white and bare |
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| [But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!] |
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| It is perfume from a dress |
65 |
| That makes me so digress? |
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| Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl. |
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| And should I then presume? |
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And how should I begin?
. . . . . |
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| Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets |
70 |
| And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes |
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| Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?… |
|
| |
| I should have been a pair of ragged claws |
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Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . . |
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| And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! |
75 |
| Smoothed by long fingers, |
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| Asleep … tired … or it malingers, |
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| Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me. |
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| Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, |
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| Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? |
80 |
| But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed, |
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| Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter, |
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| I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter; |
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| I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, |
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| And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, |
85 |
| And in short, I was afraid. |
|
| |
| And would it have been worth it, after all, |
|
| After the cups, the marmalade, the tea, |
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| Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me, |
|
| Would it have been worth while, |
90 |
| To have bitten off the matter with a smile, |
|
| To have squeezed the universe into a ball |
|
| To roll it toward some overwhelming question, |
|
| To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead, |
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| Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”— |
95 |
| If one, settling a pillow by her head, |
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| Should say: “That is not what I meant at all. |
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| That is not it, at all.” |
|
| |
| And would it have been worth it, after all, |
|
| Would it have been worth while, |
100 |
| After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, |
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| After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor— |
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| And this, and so much more?— |
|
| It is impossible to say just what I mean! |
|
| But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: |
105 |
| Would it have been worth while |
|
| If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl, |
|
| And turning toward the window, should say: |
|
| “That is not it at all, |
|
That is not what I meant, at all.”
. . . . . |
110 |
| No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; |
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| Am an attendant lord, one that will do |
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| To swell a progress, start a scene or two, |
|
| Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, |
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| Deferential, glad to be of use, |
115 |
| Politic, cautious, and meticulous; |
|
| Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; |
|
| At times, indeed, almost ridiculous— |
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| Almost, at times, the Fool. |
|
| |
| I grow old … I grow old … |
120 |
| I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. |
|
| |
| Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? |
|
| I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. |
|
| I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. |
|
| |
| I do not think that they will sing to me. |
125 |
| |
| I have seen them riding seaward on the waves |
|
| Combing the white hair of the waves blown back |
|
| When the wind blows the water white and black. |
|
| |
| We have lingered in the chambers of the sea |
|
| By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown |
130 |
| Till human voices wake us, and we drown. |
|
| |
This is overkill...!!!
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I'll assume you're not talking about Michaelangelo.
I suspect you already know this, Elena, but in case anyone is curious, the Italian quotation Eliot uses at the beginning is from Dante's Inferno. A footnote in The American Tradition in Literature [8th Edition, McGraw-Hill] offers the following translation and observation:
"If I believed my answer were being made to one who could ever return to this world, the flame would gleam [i.e., this spirit would speak] no more; but since, if what I hear is true, never from this abyss did living man return, I answer thee without fear of infamy" (Dante, Inferno, XXVII, 61-66). The speaker, Guido de Montefeltro, promised absolution by Pope Boniface VIII, advised that prelate how to betray and destroy the Colonna family of Palestrina, and died unrepentant.
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i love this.
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I'm glad. It's one of my favorite pieces by one of my favorite poets (and I suppose I've prematurely revealed who the E will be in my Favorite Poets from A to Z series, but so be it).
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Wow... I love T.S.Elliot...and this is one of my favoritest of them all.. aside from Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats.
I love the phrase, "The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes"... among others.
I know Dick often quotes the line about" measuring out ones life with coffee spoons"...
I hope you post more Elliot.
I do wonder why Hell Anne thinks it's overkill though?? I'd love to have the explanation on that...
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I quote Eliot often. I can't tell you how many times I've used "Let us go then, you and I," when going someplace, only to have the allusion go over folks' heads. Sadly, I did not become acquainted with Eliots work until prison. First, a friend I met there (Todd, who later died of AIDS) gave me a copy of Four Quartets. Then I took an Ohio U. literature class that required me to delve into more of Eliot's oeuvre. Of course I saw Cats before prison (when I was quite young), but at the time had no idea that the libretto had originated with a famous poet (and no idea who T.S. Eliot was).
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Chris, in case you wonder why I said the word "overkill" it is because in the past few days John has put over 25 different selections on his library and I just don't have time to read them all or comment. So by the time he put this one on I was really over saturated with poetry and couldn't even see it to read it and had read it before. Marc and I are working on my website and I had just spent an hour on the phone with him prior to getting the umpteenth message on my e-mail about a new entry in Crisis Chronicles. Why do I have to explain this? Is it that hard to understand?
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I also "love" Eliot. Miriam, my daughter, also a poet, wrote a dissertation comparing Wordsworth, Eliot and some other poets but never quite finished this or her doctorate at U. of Maryland. She is published, by the way, in several poetry magazines.
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Good morning Helen! Funny that John just posted a blog about this very topic. :-) understanding or mis-understanding what someone has said in an e-mail or comment posting. I asked what you meant by "overkill" because your comment wasn't obvious... really.. at least not to me. So felt it better just to ask than to guess.... thank you for at least explaining.. it is more instructive than silence is. Silence tells me nothing.
I don't think John expects us to keep up with all his new library postings. I can't. Since he will be continuing this pace most likely the rest of the month I'm sure it will be a losing battle to keep up.
However, I've been trying to keep track of the new posts because I'm interested in what he's deciding to add and often wonder why he's choosen what he has. I can't keep up either... :-) .. by way of reading all of them.... especially the longer ones. But I have tried with the shorter ones mostly because I"ve popped over to see how progress was going on things and was over here anyway. So the short ones I've gone ahead and commented on not being sure if I'd have time later to come back and do so.
I'm grateful that he's making the poetry available in one place on-line honestly. I"ve not read a lot of the poets he's posted and am still learning. When I go to the library to pick something out to read I often don't know what's good or who I would even like to read. This actually helps me alot. His posting here of such a variety of poetry gives me an idea of what's out there in almost a glance... who I like , who I don't like... and I can decide quickly who I would like to read more of and who can wait.
I'm hoping he can eventually get the grant to help pay for and facilitate his continuing working on this project. I think it's an outstanding resource to have available to people.
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Yes, I know all about his on-line library posting, and yes, it is good he is doing this for himself. A lot of these poets are well known but some poets aren't. I just can't keep up with everything he posts lately. I don't think he expects comments on every poem he posts either in spite of the fact that he wants people like you and me to respond. I guess you are beginning to see what I have known for years...he is very well read, is extremely erudite and would make an excellent teacher or librarian, BUT THE GODDAMN WORLD WON'T LET HIM BE ANYTHING EXCEPT AN EX-CON AND SEX OFFENDER This is what pisses me off, actually. He cannot get employment in any area where he has to deal with young people. Is this fair? I have tried to contact the Innocence Project but at this point there is not anything anyone can do it seems to get him exonerated so he is making the best of his life on the internet. Kudos to him for all he does and I am proud to be his friend.
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Yes.. I'm coming to see that.. how much he knows, and how talented he is, and I know you have known him longer. You seldom fail to remind us of it Helen... :-) ( I mean that in a good way...)
It is sad that he can't get a job in these other fields because of the conviction... but in a way it has given him a unique opportunity to be able to be the shaper of his own Destiny. He can create his own job category if he wants too....the limits of his success will be measured by his own creativity and tenacity. Which I am coming to see he has a lot of.
Anyway, I have things to do believe it or not... and have enjoyed the conversation here. My coffe cup is dry.. so it is time to move on.
I know John appreciates your support he always has and has said so many times.
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You are some fantastic friends and I'm honored to call you such. Thank you.
I don't intend to continue posting pieces here at the breakneck pace I have the past few days. But I wanted to fill in the gaps in the collection a bit, have more of a foundation to build the future house on so, to speak. There are still more than a few gaps I'd like to fill as far as older work, but starting Monday, I plan to get back to posting more newer stuff, by living poets, at a slower pace so folks who want to read everything can take their time and really mull over the pieces. I don't really expect folks to read everything when I post 10 pieces in a day, as I did yesterday. but I do appreciate folks' comments greatly.
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This is one of my all time favorite poems for so many reasons, I could write a term paper about it. When I was younger I fell in love with the imagery of the cat-like fog. Now as I get older I really appreciate the idea of the swiftness of time, how it is a thief and how there is but an instant in which to decide to "force a moment to it's crisis" and in that moment suffer the unbearable consequence of reproach. For it is true we all "prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet" I feel the world weary tiredness of upholding pretension while longing desperately for a real and intimate human connection.
If someone said to me, "Let us go then you and I..." I think I would follow him anywhere :)
Every line is so meaningful to me. I could never hope to discuss it all here. This poem has everything I ever wanted.
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Thanks, Tara! Obviously it's one of my favorites, too. Eliot is one of those greats I never discovered till prison. My friend Ron gave me a copy of his Four Quartets - which I admit I didn't totally get at first, though on subsequent readings I grew to love the four poems in that slim volume. A year or two later, I discovered Prufrock through a 20th century literature course I was taking from Ohio University. After that, I wanted to devour everything Eliot wrote.
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Love Song is full of symbols, imagery and wordplay. And for many, this is enough to put one off reading the poem at all. But if you do manage to soldier on and immerse yourself into the wonderful images and language of Eliot, I assure you that there will be lines that you will still quote long after the poem has been put down. If you need help in reading the poem or with the language and techniques, visit Shmoop, which has a fun, smart analysis of The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. It even has a section called How to Read a Poem which is a lifesaver if you are floundering at any time.
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Thank you, Daniel! I've been to Shmoop before and enjoyed what I read. Will have to revisit....
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